


Genus, Species

by madsaialik



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, Fencing, Flower meanings, Language Kink, Power Dynamics, Professor Ben Solo, academia lite, ben is a very unsubtle bottom, coffeeshop banter, i did so much fencing research pls, sir please having sex in the back room of a bar is a my emotional support trope, there's so much packed into this;, they both blush a lot as the author i should be more concerned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsaialik/pseuds/madsaialik
Summary: "Welcome to the first class of the semester," He says after pushing his glasses back up his nose, in a voice she doesn't recognize, something saved for this environment that he controls. Ben somehow finds her in the middle of a hundred students, giving her a small, surprised smile."I'm Professor Solo."Oh, she'sfucked.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 28
Kudos: 143





	Genus, Species

**Author's Note:**

> if these feels familiar it's because ao3 sniped my ass for having k*-fi links in my comments so I'm reposting!

Rey has a problem and a headache.

Bells chiming at an ungodly hour with each swing of the door made her head pound, their ringing echoing in the quiet coffee shop. The morning rush is still an hour away, this time after opening dedicated to others trying to wake up sometime between getting out of bed and entering their cubicle. Later she will have to deal with equally tired parents and the vivacious book club that meets every Wednesday. Last week she eavesdropped on a group of sixty-year-old women praising the author for just saying _cock_ instead of— they had quiet of list of phrases. When Rey had laughed behind the counter at _iron-hard tumescence_ , they had roped her into the conversation, somehow giving her gardening advice and several offers of marriage to their grandsons and daughters.

Rey's headache only made her mood worse when the start of the semester would make her miss Maz's group of romance novel enthusiasts.

Her problem was approximately six foot two in a pair of running shorts. Her problem's name is Ben; his order will be a tall Americano with extra caramel once he finishes his series of cool-down stretches just outside the shop's windows.

She scrawls out his order on the side of the paper to-go cup, then his name. The lip of her sharpie taps against her lips as she considers: Her phone number felt too forward, a heart? That didn't feel right, either. The first eye of the small smiley face marked when the cup jumped out of her hand.

"Morning, Rey."

She starts, dropping the cup to the floor and glared at the bells that were supposed to give a girl some warning.

"Are you okay?" Ben asks with genuine concern that pulls his brows together. She glances at the paper in hand extended toward her in a half-thought. With a smile that was between her customer service smile and a sincere grin, Rey looks back at his slackened expression.

"Of course," She smooths her apron down, kicking the cup out of sight. "Your usual, Ben?"

He brushes his hair back in what she couldn't only guess was a nervous gesture, but only brings her attention to his hands. They're always moving, to Rey's delight and chagrin. One that shifts his dark hair away from his face joins the other to pick at a smudged piece of paper.

"Please," he says in a soft tone that forces Rey to turn sharply to hide the blooming color in her cheeks. The expresso machine hiss is smoother when her mind is elsewhere. She marks a new cup, scrawling out his name. She pushed up sleeve hints at the small tattoo traveling up her forearm. Sharpie in hand, she stamps a more traditional outline and one spiky leaf with her tongue between her teeth.

His grin is eager and all but heart-breaking when she hands his coffee over, both of them fumbling as their hands' touch. A jolt from the contact that made them both take a full step back.

"Roses mean— but, a purple cup that means—" _Enchantment, love at first sight, majesty, splendor, fascination, adoration._ She knows exactly what it means. Her mind a trove of esoteric knowledge and survival instinct. Rey watches him fumble with a tilt her head as he stutters and scrunches a piece of paper in his hand. " _Pimpinellifoliae._ Lavender roses have a different Latin name than a common rose."

"Maz said you're a history teacher, and I doubt flower classification comes up a lot between the Zhou Dynasties and Visigoths."

She suppresses a smile at his lost look. Rey knew acutely the moment her café crush turned into something more profound, and the blame was thinking about glasses and the edge of a desk digging into her hips.

"I'm fluent, I use flower scientific names as a memory device," He blurts out, quickly adding, "I know Sanskrit too, that's— not something to brag about, I'm—"

Rey leans onto the counter with her hands clasped together, careful how close her legs are to the counter.

"What other languages do you know?"

"French, Arabic, Punjabi, German, Portuguese, Chinese, and Hebrew," he scuffs his running shoe as he mumbles, somehow abashed with his innate ability that left her speechless for a moment. Ben glances at her, quickly at her parted lips, before his gaze darts out the window and somewhere beyond. "Whenever I was interested in a specific area, I studied the language first, so I didn't have to depend on translations. It helped that I had a very encouraging tutor."

Rey was in love; immediately, there was no way around it. She would think about this little encounter every day for at least the next three weeks. Worse, she sees him every morning in those _shorts._

"That's very passion— dedicated of you."

Unsure with what to do with that, his shoulders curl a little as if this massive man could ever look smaller than what he is. Rey watches something loosen in him and makes a mental note. Then she tests her theory, with a lick of her lips. "What language are you learning right now?"

"Spanish, a little late," he confesses gruffly, he taps his running shoe against the ground. For a moment, her attention diverts to his thighs; he has no right to look like this.

"No, I'm impressed, Ben." She says with a sly grin, "It's very— what's the word I'm looking for— disciplined? Well-behaved? No, I know, sedulous."

His eyes snap her hers, dark in the morning light, "I'm late— I should— I need to go."

"Enjoy your coffee, Ben," Rey picks up a towel, giving him his hasty retreat, "see you tomorrow."

She doesn't see him the next day. Rey sees him three hours later, standing taller then she's ever seen at the head of the lecture hall. Watches him shrugged off the soft-looking cardigan with a dry mouth, rolling up the sleeves of his button-up before addressing them.

"Welcome to the first class of the semester," He says after pushing his glasses back up his nose, in a voice she doesn't recognize, something saved for this environment that he controls. Ben somehow finds her in the middle of a hundred students, giving her a small, surprised smile. "I'm Professor Solo."

Oh, she's _fucked._

"Good morning, Professor Solo," Rey says in a sudden bout of sullenness, her voice short but his running shorts shorter. He was ten minutes late, leaving her enough time to add a spiky bird of paradise in place of his name. _Joyfulness, magnificence, wonderful anticipation._

Ben-- _Professor Solo_ clears his throat and the confidence she was tortured with for one hour and fifteen minutes is stripped, bowed legs and nervous fingers in its place. A trail of sweat and dark hair against his temple is pushed back with his large palm.

"It was a pleasure to have you in class yesterday, I look forward to this semester with you."

Rey cocks her head to the side, studying him the same manner that he sized her up his lecture hall. An odd shift of power off campus grounds.

"I'm always a pleasure, professor."

Her voice is too breathy to carry the pseudo naivety of someone not aware of the double connotation, and she's too slow to take it back. The next breath hitched in her throat as she contemplates each reasoning behind the flush creeping up Ben's neck. The heat, the exertion of his morning run, the hot coffee he insists on drinking every morning, or--

Rey breaks the tension first, leaning back on her heels and turning toward the back counter. It's a dance and retreat, forcing Ben to take the next step.

Behind her turned back, he clears his throat and swallows what he wanted to say.

"Here's your coffee."

_"Strelitzia reginae?"_

She hums, feigning disinterest until she glances up at him through his lashes.

"You're very talented," he murmurs while his thumb runs along with the thick stock.

Rey wasn't expecting a compliment and does her best to hide her blush with a nonchalant shrug.

"I've been sketching--" _I grew up in a junkyard wanting to put things together and not allowed to touch anything_ , "--awhile. Drawn up plans make a better design." _In theory._

"I teach an art class. I can't remember when the university has named it-- something pretentious like studio art or something."

"A little pretentious, maybe, but I bet I can top you with my advanced drawing for engineering," she laughs, "but my scholarship doesn't allow me to take any beginning electives now that I'm in my third year."

"You're a junior? But I've never seen you on campus before."

As if he'd remember, a pessimistic part of her scoffs.

"I started in community college," Rey tells him with a raised chin as if to get this career academic to challenge the authenticity of her educational course.

"Shame," he says, and she immediately bristles at his implications until he continues, "it would have been nice to know you sooner. Have a nice day, Rey."

He walks toward the door. Rey forces her heart to calm and waits for the bells to chime, except there's a pause.

"How'd you get into my history class if you're on an engineering course?"

She smirks.

"I told admissions about my idea of a future thesis on computing before computers, and they tacted on the history minor."

"Fascinating," Ben says without a hint of sarcasm, "let me know if there's anything I can do for you-- my office door is always open to you."

Rey wants to curl up behind the counter to process her last interaction with Professor Solo. Her plans to ruminate ruined when the bell chimes frantically as a mom wrestles her double stroller through the door.

"Morning, Kelsey, smaller Kelsey's," Rey chirps and holds the door open.

During afternoon practice, Rey advanced through sweat and the pain behind her left knee with indelicate footwork against the mat of the piste. One quick dart and extension of her arm before a proper parry of her opponent can be executed and, "Point."

With her saber pointed to the floor, she reaches up to take her mask off. Innate skill and ambition haven't slackened, her entire focus narrowed to her goal of striking octave and septime.

"I'm not used to seeing you twice a day, Professor Solo," Rey tells her Professor standing a safe distance away

"I had business with my uncle, but I thought I would say hello to a student," he says with a crooked smile.

She kept her red face, still sweaty from exertion, as blank as possible as her mind screams, _But, I had a mask on? I had a mask on, I had a mask on, oh my god, I had a mask on, and he recognized me with a mask on._

"Well, next time, how about you bring me a coffee."

"Deal."

He offers his large hand as if it were a severe business merger rather than a suggestion born from her half-assed banter. Rey takes it in her own gloved fingers and shakes once, unable to hide her grin. This was dangerous.

He pulls her closer and ducks down to murmur in her ear. The action shivers down her tired spine and tightens her fingers around his.

"I'll challenge you for it." His breath cools the sweat on her neck. "Loser buys the winner coffee."

Rey laughs and looks at him with mischief on the curve of her mouth.

"Alright, but I'm broke, so no fancy americano if you win."

"Ben, if you injure my best fencer, I will tell your mother at family brunch," Luke shouts from the threshold of his office.

"You can't make me go to brunch," he shoots back.

"Family brunch is mandatory!"

Some part of Rey longs to be part of such a strange dynamic but currently pleased with her position as an outsider and watch them continue to bicker. The tips of Ben's ears become red through the curtain of his thick hair on their way to the locker room where Luke promises a uniform that might fit him.

Rey fixes her buns and barks at a teammate to set their feet before they break an ankle. Finn gives her a thumbs up where he's running drills along the floor to ceiling walls. She bends to touch her toes, testing the tension behind her knee to adjust her stance to protect her bad ankle. The jagged scar hidden beneath her white pants kept her improperly healed fracture in her shin, a misstep or an illegal move away from breaking. A physical wound earned from her junkyard days kept from her medical history and most significant threat to her scholarship. There were no backups for students with future snatching injuries.

She flexes her hand and plasters a smile on when Ben grumbles about how tight his pants are.

"Are you okay?"

Rey hesitates to ask him to go easy during a casual spar, to see the flash of concern and possible questions in front of her coach.

"Give me all you got, professor."

She doesn't yell or shout like her teammates, each lunge is made with a snarl. Ben immediately steps out of her reach, forcing her forward. She realizes quickly that he's merely humoring her by using a saber when he clearly specializes in epee. There is a touch to her wrist, more effortlessly made without the bell guard. Behind her mask, she says with a grin, "You have to go for the hips if winning is still your objective."

He's lighter on his feet than his size predicts. Stronger parries push Rey's saber aside quickly before she can make contact. Fencing, meant to be a demonstration of speed and precision, is drawn out between them when neither can land a legal point. He retreats with a slight flourish that makes her hands shake with frustration, the tremor traveling to the tip of her saber. Rey jabs him sharply in the shoulder with a pant.

"Point," Luke calls out from where he chooses to run referee to keep them honest.

The tip of Ben's saber made contact softly with Rey's hip.

"Point."

"To seven or eleven?" Rey calls out.

"You think you can last that long?"

"You'll be surprised by my stamina, Solo," she bites back.

His chuckle is muffled by the mesh of his mask as she darts forward.

"Five two minutes bouts, seven points, and saber rules," Luke says, then as Rey's saber lands sharply against his bicep, "and point."

Each match becomes longer, nearly lasting the full two minutes, the more familiar they become with each other's movement. A dance rather than a challenge, tense pauses break by quick feet or Luke's voice.

Ben reaches up to pull his mask off. His hair flops over the sweat shining on his forehead and curls around his ears. He glances at her non-dominate leg behind her and surrenders with a slight bow.

"She's excellent," he tells Luke and ruffles a hand over his head.

"I know," Luke says gruffly, "she'll be better than you ever could have been if you hadn't defected."

Ben sighs with every ounce of power of the lungs in his massive chest. Rey watches them with her brows raised. Luke's jab at his past with the First Order Academy, where Ben had injured himself before university doubled as praise for her own talent, leaving her slightly confused instead of preening.

"You can be done for the day, only for beating my nephew."

Luke waves them both off, tired of their antics and thinly veiled banter.

"I owe you coffee."

Ben's soft voice reaches her, and her stomach clenches. It's not in the official rules of the school to have non-date coffees with professors, but it's toeing a line that's frowned upon. She can't risk her scholarship for nice hair and a pretty mouth.

"I--," Rey swallows past the dryness in her throat, glances at his bourbon-colored eyes, and wishes for something stronger than coffee. "I can't right now, maybe later?"

"Raincheck, then." Rey smiles at how easy he bows out and tries to escape to the locker room. Her shoulders tense when he says, "and Rey? Be sure to ice your leg."

The words chilled her more than any ice bath.

With a churning stomach, Rey changes her coffee schedule from the morning shift, cutting her hours by a third. The only respite is a slightly better sleep schedule. She sits a few rows back Wednesday mornings, toward the exit, and doesn't focus on how Professor Solo removes his cufflinks to roll up his sleeves. Her instant attraction spreads thin into a painful longing that presses her thighs together during lectures.

He rambles during some classes, bouncing seven degrees from the topic, catches himself, and promises the content won't appear on the next test. Rey writes it down anyways for the promise of the information becoming necessary later.

Somewhere in the discussion comparing Da Vinci's surrealism and sketches detailing his scientific revolution, the idea of the Italian Renaissance and multiple copies of the Mona Lisa, made a question bubble on her tongue.

His face lights up when he follows her hand to her face as if-- _yes, there you are._

"Yes, Miss. Cissa?" He calls out before she can snatch her hand back out of the air.

A flush reddened her chest beneath her sweater. Rey sits up taller when a few people wait for her to speak. The sudden silence prematurely wakes someone the row ahead of her; their sleep rumpled face turns toward her. _I haven't talked to you in weeks, and I don't know how_ , all while berating herself for a stupid question she must now force between her teeth, with an underlying chant of _shit shit shit shit--_

"He was renowned in multiple fields of scientific study, do you think he would be disappointed to be famous after death as an artist rather than vice versa?"

Ben chuckles-- _shit shit shit,_ the sound deep and resonates in her chest-- "I would, most of my canvases are in a dumpster behind the art department.," he jokes with a boyish grin, "However, it's difficult to say when he rarely spoke of his emotions in the journals holding his work. Most scientific contributions are thankless and hard to discover the truth of until you have a tenacious engineering student trying to root them out. Any other questions, Miss. Cissa?"

Rey ducks a little as she shakes her head, "No. Thank you, Professor."

Then in her open planner, she quickly jots down _dumpster diving/decorations for apt.-- art department._

Interactions with students were limited to lecture halls and reluctant office hours. Extra credit was offered in place of thinly veiled suggestions. Ben did not find himself alone with them often, especially not in bars where the bartender didn't notice him ducking inside when she was too invested in-- his article in the Oxford Journal of German History.

Carefully, he folds his frame into the small barstool in the middle of the bar. Her laptop is sitting open nearby, the screen off. Ben can picture her here, writing or researching for her full schedule of classes between getting customers beer and shots of tequila. He has always been aware of Rey, of her work ethic, of her pointed questions, and neat assignments. Certain respect he has for hardworking students was already in place knowing how early she wakes up for her shift at the coffee shop, then amplified when she sheepishly asked for a one-day extension on a paper for a fencing tournament. Now, at another job, Ben wonders when this intelligent girl sleeps. He rubs away at the protective ache in his chest, something he thinks he has no right to feel.

Her hazel eyes tracked the page with a feverish pace he recognized from class. Makeup shifted her features, accenting the beauty already there, dusted in freckles. Ben looks away from how her lips mouth the words as she seems to catch something that intrigued her, rolling it over in her mind. Rey leaned on the counter, the way he has seen so many times before, yet not-- not like this. The toe of one converse bounces on the floor, crossed behind her ankle, the line of her calf and thigh becoming defined with each motion.

Ben makes the mistake of letting his gaze follow the curve of her-- and chokes.

"Professor Solo?"

Damn, has he missed the smell of coffee and his name in her mouth.

He coughs once more in his hand, grateful that his hair covers his red ears so he can be free to continue to make an embarrassment of himself. Rey only smiles even when he croaks out a greeting. Over the past few months, he has been familiar with her smiles. How her sly grin to a classmate nearly makes him trip mid-lecture, the proud smirk she works to suppress at a good grade, the ardent beaming that he wakes up two hours early for.

This smile is different, soft in a way as if she just asked a question and is waiting patiently for an answer. Ben realized she did ask a question, something along the lines of what she could do for him.

"Whiskey," he tells her and hoping the liquor might make it so he's not tripping through this entire interaction. A long shot and very likely a mistake. He should leave, he should have never come in here.

He gives Rey a puzzled look when she sets two glasses in front of him with the bottle from the top shelf.

"On the house when you're drinking with the bartender."

"If you're busy-- I mean you don't have--" Ben cuts himself off when she throws back a shot to watch the way her throat moved in the quick motion, swallowing thickly when Rey looks at him.

"As much as I love your writing, Professor Solo," She says as she refills her glass and pushes his across the counter, "I'd rather listen to your voice when you tell me about the Inauguration and political liturgy in the Hohenstaufen Empire."

History, he can do that. "The ritual of a royal coronation in the medieval period has not been intensively studied, however--"

It's almost like being in a lecture hall with history flitting between them and Rey asking him to clarify points and sometimes arguing with him. Except, to Ben, it is so vividly opposite, not with her leaning toward him, not with her tilting her head like that to listen, hair spilling over her neck, and bitter whiskey warm on his tongue.

His jaw tenses when she taps her pen against her mouth, half in thought, half attentive to his impassionate speech of medieval scholars. The ink refuses to mark the napkin between them, a frustrated noise in her throat between groan and huff. Ben isn't surprised when he's looked over her shoulder onto the garden bordering her notes. Then he remembers the flowers next to his name on his coffee. Ben misses them more than he realized. Rey moves to pick out a different pen, carefully picking a color in a deliberate action he can't decipher, before returning to him.  
Somewhere between juxtaposition royal and imperial evidence, a cluster of calla lilies bloom in blue rather than their natural white. They mean _magnificence, beauty, purity, innocence_ , instead, he murmurs mid-sentence, _"Zantedeschia aethiopica."_

As their drinks drain and influence of whiskey deepens, their voices lowered, a low rumble in his chest as he watched the petals of a chrysanthemum unfurl, _optimism, joy, "Anthemidea Chrysanthemum."_

Circling structure of messy, a ranunculus grows in his palm when she runs out of room on his exposed skin. He's not protesting when she grabs his hand. Her fingers warm against his as she holds his flat.

_Radiant charm, attractiveness._

_"Ranunculus eschscholtzii."_

He forced himself to keep still, to not reach for her when she released him to step back, to stay focused on inaugurations of Frederick Barbarossa and not Rey's glazed eyes lick up his wrist to admire her canvas. She pulls a highlighter from somewhere along the bar, bending back over his outstretched arm, her touch drawing goosebumps the surface. The rippling edge of a daffodil is hard to see against his pale skin and crossed through with his slow heartbeat, far too comforted by Rey's idyllic circles she traces with her fingertips near his elbow as she draws. His mind is hazy as he searches for the words. _Desire, longing for affection to be returned._

_"Narcissus jonquilla."_

She glances up at him through her lashes before picking her blue pen back up. Rey's cheeks are flushed, but her linework is smooth and even against his skin. He stops talking when he realizes it's the first flower she had ever put on his coffee cup, that had been purple, this-- another blue rose--

_Unattainable, I can’t have you, but I can’t stop thinking about you._

"Rey," He says softly in a bar so silent that she jumps at his voice, but leans into his sudden touch on her face.

His fingers shyly follow the curve of her ear, thumb brushing her cheekbone and then the swell of her bottom lip when her lips part. Eyes are more brown than green, profound, and knowing even as unfocused as they are, Rey is looking at his mouth. Her gaze is hungry.

Without thought, his hand moves to cup the back of her head, pulling her toward him as he stands to lean over the counter separating them. There is no hesitation before her mouth moves against his and her hand's suddenly card through his hair. She is sweet under the tang whiskey in the way her small moan reminds him how irrevocably fucked he is.

Rey is the first to pull away, kissing him once in gently with something like reassurance and whispering, "hold on."

Quickly, she locks up, flipping the closed sign onto the door. Then, she's kissing Ben again, tentatively, threading her fingers through his.

"I don't want anyone to see us," sends a pang through his chest, soothed by her hand, tugging him toward a backroom.

Glass rattles, clinking together unseen when the door shuts with his back pressed against it. He pushes forward, wanting to touch all of her at once. His hands run down her spine, over her hips.

"Ben-- Ben," She murmurs into his neck, on her toes to reach his jaw.

Hearing Rey say his name for the first time in months deepens his voice to a degree, he hardly recognizes, "What do you want me to do to you, sweetheart?"

How she trembles awakens something in him, but it's her words that undo him. "I've been thinking about you for months. Touch me, Ben, please."

When he finds the hem of her dress, her hips rock into his, making him groan into the wet heat of her mouth. He licks away her gasp when he yanked the fabric up and around her waist.

"Where--" He chokes out as his palms grip the bare skin of her ass.

"I don't wear underwear."

Every time she has ever worn a skirt to his class flashed through his mind. This radiant, intelligent, beautiful girl is going to kill him, but make him come in his pants first.

Ben walks her backward through the dark with no destination in mind, then--

"Rey, is this a desk?"

Details of the office she pulled him into sharpen in the dim light. The boxes and filing cabinets against the wall. He turns her around and leans over her, his hands covering her breasts, until she reaches out to brace herself, "Is this what you wanted?"

She grinds against his cock, seeking any type of friction until his head rests on her shoulder, just to feel her pressed against him. The thin straps of her dress are dragged down her arm, his blunt fingernails scraping goosebumps. Fully clothed, he lets her bunched dress fall to her ankles. Ben places his mouth on her neck until her thighs are pressed into the desk with a whimper.

"Answer me," He whispers with his hand dragging up the back of her thighs. Rey gasped, breath caught when he yanked her hair back to kiss along her jaw.

"You want it too," Rey murmurs and rolls her hips into his hand, "but I don't want you to fuck me here. Not here."

"Just tell me where."

Rey's back hits her mattress, and Ben cover's her like a man possessed, his mouth tracing her jaw and down the slender line of her neck. In the dark, she learns how to read the lines of his body, like decoding an ancient script she's seen him carrying. His hands mold to her skin, pressing into her before she can slip through her fingers again.

She whimpers when he nips at the curve of her breast, soothed with his clever mouth.

"Ben, please--"

"I'm here, I've got you."

Her spine curls at the promise, wanting it too last more than a night. Rey arches into his hands, knowing this won't last when the sun rises with the possibility that he'll leave before then. For the future heartache, he has yet to cause, she takes it out on his skin with her mouth and fingers. She edges him until he's cursing and bucking into her grip. Bittersweet torture drawn out with his head between her thighs. His hair tickles her legs like soft kisses.

"I've really missed you," He tells her between broad strokes of his tongue her hips move in time with.

The first orgasm is a small thing, a foundation, and promise to something more. Ben moves up her body while her skin is still twitching in aftershocks. He brushes her hair away from her temple in a gesture so gently it makes her tear he can't see leak from the corner of her eye and into his palm.

Before he can ask, Rey presses her mouth to his with a bruising pressure and rolls him onto his back. Without ceremony and hitched breath, she sinks onto him. An embarrassing sound whimpers strangely through her teeth, muffled into the fine hair plastered to his neck. He holds her as she adjusts to the stretch, her thighs tremble against his hips.

One last kiss and nip against his bottom lip, Rey rises and sets a tantalizingly slow pace along the complete length of his cock. Ben's hands shake as they snake up her legs and grip her waist. He groans as he meets her and mimics her timing, slow and never pushing. Ben pulls himself up from his elbows to kiss her, and she pauses to enjoy it-- the taste and pressure and fullness.  
He follows her when she crawls off of him and lays with her back toward him. Ben's arms snake around her shoulders and press her into his broad chest as he enters her slowly, maintaining the tempo of their bodies.

Rey's head lolls back as he kisses her neck and his other hand not holding her cups her sex before rubbing circles against her clit. He's still going slow, far too loving that she nearly begs him to push her against the sheets and fuck her. Instead, her orgasm builds sweetly through her clenched muscles and pulls her stomach taut. Ben grips the leg she through back over his hip tightly, pulling at the sensitive skin of her thigh until she yelps and moans into her pillow. He does it again in a testing manner, to memorize everything to remember later once it's over, she thinks. A tremor runs through her when he half yank half pulls her onto his chest. Holding both thighs and letting her relax against him, she nuzzles against his jaw.

"Please," Rey whispers, running her hands over his forearms and threads her fingers through his.

Ben bites her ear and sinks his teeth where her shoulder and neck meet. He fucks up into her, holds her legs apart with his knees while she writhes under his arm. He comes with a groan when her back bows, breaking the contact between them and changing the angle so sharply she follows.

Rey is entirely too comfortable lying across his panting chest when they both regain their breath. Ben begins to kiss at the bite marks he's left on her and shifts from under her. She thinks that this is when he'll get dress, maybe search for his cufflinks from under the bed, then leave.

He navigates her small apartment in the dark, water runs in her kitchenette, and her heart hammers beneath her ribs in fear of what comes next. Adrenaline drains from her blood so quickly that her hearing hallows sharply enough to cover Ben's return.

Her bedside lamp flicks on and dimly illuminates her small room. Rey wants to hide but makes no move to reach for the sheets, the sense of abandonment will find her anywhere.

A cold cloth wipes the sheen of sweat from her face and runs over her warm thighs and sex, cleaning the evidence of them away. She's frozen, unsure how to react to the soft touches and Ben's lingering presence.

Ben offers her a glass of water in his other hand and frowns when she doesn't take it.

"We can't do this again," she says, knowing if he asks her what's wrong, it would be unbearable.

"Why is that?"

"I could lose my scholarship, you could get fired."

His jaw is tense when his gaze suddenly retreats, and she loses him to thought and implications. Ben stands beside her bed, still nude and glorious, while she curls up and waits for him to solve their unsolvable problem. She's already considered every loophole, every rule, every situation. Nothing didn't end in them being caught, and her degree revoked.

"Is that my painting?" he asks suddenly, pointing to the large chiaroscuro above her bed, the same bed where they had made love. Rey shoots up, having forgotten about it. She had dug it out of the garbage, carefully cleaning a mysterious liquid from each raised oil brushstroke. It had taken days to restore it. She couldn't afford a frame or to lose the security deposit. It rests against the wall neglected for its mastery but loved nonetheless. The magpie, genus cissa, an apt word she choose for her surname after a fellow scavenger. It's green wings more colorful than her youth with the ability to fly anywhere had knocked the wind from her chest when she first saw it.

"Rey?"

"I've missed you, too. I thought if I couldn't have you, then maybe a piece of you would fill this-- this--" Rey can't speak, unable to give the ache in her chest a name, a purpose, afraid it would ruin her completely.

A thumb brushes away a tear, and Ben gathers her into his arms. The contact of his skin against hers a balm she sinks into happily with a soft sigh.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Rey. Two years without you will be unbearable."

She hums against his bare chest, rubbing her cheek against him, soaking every touch.

"Or at least until I find a new job," he murmurs into her hair.

"A little impulsive after one night."

"True, but I've been thinking about you for months."

He presses a kiss against her temple, and she finally leans into the gesture.

"Somewhere far enough away that I don't have to go to family brunch," he muses, and she laughs.

"I don't know I sort of wanted to experience it."

"I still owe you coffee."

"Maybe in the morning."

Rey reaches up on her toes to kiss him and pulls on his forearms back toward the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I used Cissa as Rey's surname in [Odile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071619/chapters/52673314) too-- it's the genus of the green magpie, a very pretty little scavenger 
> 
> twitter [@madsaialik](https://twitter.com/madsaialik) if you rec but I love comments more than anything 🥰


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